


Where All My Journeys End

by cassie_black



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their college courses take them in different directions, Blaine and Kurt drift apart. It takes a near-tragedy to bring them back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where All My Journeys End

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the first round of klaine_endgame fest on livejournal. The last two seasons of Glee have rendered it completely AU!

"We're supposed to be meeting David at one." Wes turns his attention from the TV and runs a critical eye over his friend's form.

Blaine smiles in return but makes no effort to move. He wraps his fingers securely around his coffee mug and raises it to his lips. His eyes, visible over the rim, dance with amusement – nothing aggravates Wes more than tardiness, and Blaine's fairly sure that right now his best friend is longing for a gavel to bang in annoyance.

Wes mock scowls. "Fine. But if we're late, I'm blaming you."

Blaine places his cup carefully on the counter and loosely folds his arms across his chest. "Relax," he says, in that calm, soothing manner of his. "It's not even twelve yet. The restaurant's only two blocks."

"It'll take most of that time to tame that mop of yours." Wes's gaze comes to rest on Blaine's hair, which is, admittedly, still sporting the _dragged through the bushes backwards_ look. "I hope you're planning to get that cut before the wedding."

"Kira's already made the appointment." Blaine runs one hand through the aforementioned curls. "You're starting to sound like her already, and you're not even married yet."

"Laugh all you want," Wes huffs. "You're not the one with a fiancée who's rapidly turning into a Bridezilla."

"Relax, Wes," Blaine repeats, and steps forward to clap his friend on the shoulder. "I'll be the epitome of stylish sophistication. Think about it, being the Best Man at your wedding is probably as close as I'll ever get to one of my own; my mother's bound to want pictures."

Thus reassured, Wes picks up the remote and resumes channel surfing. "You _could_ get married," he comments absently. "It's not like we're in Ohio anymore."

"I'd have to find the right person first," Blaine admits ruefully. "And I'm not exactly having much luck in that department lately."

"It's not the finding you have trouble with, it's the holding on to."

Blaine shrugs. Wes may have a point but he really doesn't want to get into his disastrous dating history right now. So he makes a noncommittal humming sound, and then adds, "I should get ready." He starts towards his room but the door's barely open before Wes calls after him.

"That reminds me, are you bringing a date to the wedding? We need to know for the seating plan."

"Who would I bring?" Blaine demands, and congratulates himself on keeping the bitterness from his tone.

"What about that blond guy? The one whose jeans were so tight I didn't know where to look half the time."

"Tyler?" Blaine's eyes crinkle in amusement. "That was two months ago. We broke up."

"How come?" Wes sounds a little more interested now and Blaine's heart sinks. He loves his best friend, really he does, but Wes's penchant for psychoanalysing his love life is getting a bit old.

So he shrugs. "It didn't feel right."

Wes obviously decides to let it go, this time. "Okay, so how about whoever you were out with Saturday night? And don't deny it," he adds quickly before Blaine can reply. "Kira saw you coming out of _Sardis_."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "You have your fiancée checking up on me now, too?" When all Wes does in reply is raise an eyebrow, Blaine huffs. "Fine. His name's Mark. He's in that Off-Broadway production of Rent I went to see last week."

"And?" Wes prompts.

"And what?"

"Now I know you're being deliberately obtuse. What's wrong with him?"

Blaine folds his arms and adopts a defensive stance. "Who said there's anything wrong with him?"

"It's _you_ , Blaine. There's always something wrong – too tall, too intense, too casual, too loud." Wes counts the reasons off on his fingers. "There's always a reason for you to dump them, when what you really mean is that they're not –"

"He's straight," Blaine blurts out – he has a very good idea of where Wes is going with that and he really doesn't want to deal right now. "We're just friends; he knows Rachel."

Wes nods as if to say _okay_ , but then a grin crosses his face. "Well, there's always Thad. He's single right now, and he's always had a huge man-crush on you."

Blaine doesn't reply, he just shakes his head slowly. It's not the first time he's heard this – it was a favourite theory of Wes and David's for quite some years after they left Dalton.

Instead, Blaine heads into his room, does his best not to trip over the discarded comforter he'd flung on the floor when Wes turned up early, and opens his closet in search of something appropriate to wear.

He's dithering between the red cashmere sweater or the _Urban Outfitters_ cardigan when he hears it.

"Blaine!"

At first he ignores – no doubt Wes has just thought of even more jokes to make at his expense.

"Blaine!"

"I'm getting dressed." Blaine's reply is muffled by the sweater he's tugging over his head, but the apartment isn't so big that Wes won't hear.

"You need to come here. Now."

There's a waver of something on that last word that catches Blaine's attention. Cursing Wes and zipping up his pants at the same time, Blaine heads back into the living room.

"What's so important it can't wait for me to put clothes on?"

Wes doesn't answer. He's perched on the edge of the hideous beige couch that Blaine has been meaning to replace since forever. The tension is evident in every line of Wes's body and his eyes are glued to the TV.

Blaine sits beside him and glances briefly at the screen – some news programme or other. The words don't really register because Blaine's too concerned about his friend.

"Wes?" he says tentatively. "What's up?"

In reply, Wes nods at the TV. "Look."

So Blaine does. He'd rather not, to be honest. He's always found it a little distasteful the way news reporters hover round accidents like vultures, just waiting for a tragedy or an outpouring of grief. It is definitely the seedier side of Journalism as far as he's concerned, and one he's very glad he’s stayed away from.

There's a car crash; that much is obvious – a silver Audi crushed up against the barrier by a large SUV that came from god-knows-where. The sirens almost drown the reporter out, and it's all Blaine can do to concentrate with the multitude of flashing lights.

It looks bad. Really bad. But sadly not an unusual occurrence on their country’s roads. So why is Wes...

"It's not..." Blaine reaches out uncertainly towards his friend. "Is it someone you know?" he asks softly.

Blaine's ready for just about any reaction, apart from the look of utter incredulity on Wes's face as he turns around. "Are you serious?" he demands, with a tone that more than matches his expression.

So Blaine looks again. Really looks this time. And then his heart stops. It's like someone has reached into his chest with one hand and is choking him with the other. The scrolling text along the bottom of the screen – Blaine's pet hate that he's trained himself to ignore –searing into his retinas. 

 

Breaking News: Emmy Winner Kurt Hummel seriously injured in car accident. 

Blaine looks from that back up to the mangled wreck of what he assumes is Kurt's car, and is forced to choke back the bile that rises. He's no doctor, but the way that SUV has crushed the entire left hand side...Blaine just can't see how the driver can have survived. 

And Kurt...beautiful, talented, wonderful Kurt, whom he hasn't spoken to in almost two years, whom he watches daily on his TV screen like just any other fan – and the thought that he might never get to see, to hear, to touch him again, well, it's more than Blaine can bear.

It's been almost six years since they broke up, but Blaine's never stopped loving Kurt – he's never even tried. Not in a _I cry myself to sleep over you every night_ kind of a way, but in a way that he's sure he'll always feel for his first love, first everything.

He's on his feet before he even realises what's happening. It's as if the shock has caused him to relinquish control, has turned him into this automaton.

Blaine's vaguely aware of Wes's gaze, of the concern in his friend's eyes, but it's distant, on the periphery, and he doesn't stop to hear the words of comfort that will doubtless follow. There's no point. Meaningless platitudes won't shift the very real knot of fear twisting Blaine's belly, and they won't chase away the horror he feels at the prospect of Kurt dying while he's thousands of miles away.

And just like that Blaine makes a decision. Although, it's more like he comes to realise what was already there, as opposed to making any actual choices. He tears his gaze away from the screen and walks determinedly into his bedroom.

By the time Wes follows after, Blaine is already stuffing clothes randomly into a bag.

Wes frowns a little at the sight, and if he wasn't currently in the midst of panic, Blaine's fairly sure he would laugh at the _careful_ way his friend is watching him – almost as if Blaine is a wild animal, or a ticking bomb ready to go off.

There's silence for a moment and Blaine takes the opportunity to shove a few more pairs of jeans haphazardly into his bag.

"What are you doing?"

Blaine can tell from the look on Wes's face that even he knows just how redundant this question is. It couldn't be clearer if Blaine was holding a sign saying—

"I'm going to LA."

Wes is quiet again, thoughtful. Blaine readies himself for the argument he thinks will follow – reasoned, well thought out, calmly made points why this was _such a bad idea_. The sort of rationale that Wes is famed for.

So Blaine gets his second, albeit far more minor, shock of the day when Wes nods in acceptance and says "I'll drive you to the airport. My car's outside on the street."

"It's fine." Blaine stills, shoes in one hand and an expression of surprise on his face. "I'll get a cab. You should go meet David."

Wes manages to make the huff that follows sound both offended and insulting at the same time. "I'll drive you," he repeats firmly, and hands over the sweater he's just folded with such precision. "You're not the only one who cares about Kurt – he was our friend too." Wes holds up a hand to silence Blaine's protests before he can make them. "Yes, yes, I know you two were more than friends – I knew _that_ before you did – but do you really think I'm going to head off for lunch like nothing has happened?"

Blaine sags visibly. He sinks down onto the bed and cradles his head in his hands. "Sorry." The word's somewhat muffled, but apparently Wes hears loud and clear.

He stops closer, places a hand on Blaine's shoulder and squeezes gently. "It's okay," he says quietly. Then more firmly adds, "Come on, then. Grab the rest of your stuff – you've got a plane to catch."

Blaine looks up and smiles weakly. "I've got a ticket to buy first."

♦ ♦ ♦

For a flight that takes just under six hours, it feels to Blaine like an eternity. It's not uncomfortable or anything – the first class ticket he purchased has seen to that – but he wants, needs to be in LA now.

He has no idea of what's going on with Kurt, save for that reporter’s claim of _seriously injured_ , and there's no way to find out apparently. Blaine checks his phone constantly hoping for an update, a statement of some sort from Kurt's _people_ or the hospital – but nothing.

And so the ball of fear and nerves and guilt in the pit of his stomach keeps growing. Complimentary drinks and food declined – there's little chance of it staying down anyway – Blaine settles back in his seat and lets his eyes drift closed.

That's when the memories come flooding in.

_  
"But I thought we were going to New York? We talked about it, made plans."_

_"I know." Kurt reaches out and takes hold of Blaine's hand; it's swiftly pulled away. "I'm sorry."_

_Kurt says the word softly, and normally the look in his eyes would be enough to melt Blaine's heart. But not right now. Because right now Blaine's heart is a little busy being ripped out of his chest._

_"Were you ever going to tell me?" Blaine demands angrily as he tosses the UCLA prospectus onto the sofa between them._

_"I wanted to." Kurt can't look at him now – he's busy picking at some invisible thread on his cuff. "I was waiting for the right moment, but there—"_

_"There was never going to be a right moment for something like this." Blaine rakes one hand through his curls – curls that are loose and gel free because Kurt liked them that way. Blaine struggles to rein in the bitterness that surges through him, but he's fighting a losing battle._

_"It's a really good course. They only accept around five percent of the people who apply, and they picked me." Kurt looks up now, his eyes bright and earnest, but Blaine still feels sick. "I couldn't turn down the opportunity."_

_"What were you doing even applying in the first place?" For a moment Blaine's gaze drifts past Kurt, over his shoulder, towards the kitchen, to where he knows Burt is hovering uncertain whether to step in or not. "Damn it, Kurt, New York was your idea. It's all you've talked about for the last twelve months."_

_"I know, and I'm sorry."_

_"California's the other side of the country." Blaine ignores Kurt's words – apologies mean nothing right now. His voice is raised, but he can't help it. His whole future is falling apart, and the one person he'd trusted with it, is the one person destroying it. "We'll never see each other again."_

_There's just a hint of panic visible on Kurt's face at these words, and Blaine almost despises himself for the satisfaction he derives from it._

_"There's the phone, or Skype," Kurt says hurriedly. "And we'll still have the holidays."_

_But Blaine shakes his head firmly. "Haven't you been listening to me? I'm leaving, Kurt, and I have nothing to come back for. My parents, well, you know as well as I do that they won't exactly get a marching band to welcome me home."_

_"I don't understand." Kurt looks a little lost now, so Blaine makes a conscious effort to calm himself._

_"I'm not coming back," he says, eyes glued to Kurt's face intently. "I'm moving to New York in September and I don't plan to come back here again."_

_"So you're saying this is it? If I go to LA we'll never see each other again?"_

_"I'm not the one doing this, Kurt." Blaine sighs and gets to his feet. "I'm just telling you how it is, and I'm not changing my life around for you again. Not after this."_

_Kurt doesn't say anything. He sits on the sofa looking up at Blaine with wide eyes glazed with the threat of tears. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, but the urge to hold onto his anger is stronger._

_"I should go," Blaine mutters, his eyes now firmly fixed on his shoes. Then he turns, walks towards the door, and doesn't look back – not even when a muffled sob sounds behind._

It's a memory that never gets any easier. Whoever it was that said time heals all wounds was talking shit as far as Blaine's concerned. Because that's the moment it all went wrong, and even though they soldiered on after that point – the last few months of school, summer vacation – it was all tainted. The spectre of Kurt's decision looming over them.

When the time had come, facing the reality of their decisions wasn't so easy. For all his earlier determination, Blaine hadn't been ready to say goodbye, and Kurt had never made any secret of his feelings on the subject. But they were both young, and neither of them understood, or was ready for the implications this had.

Blaine rubs one hand tiredly over his face and tries to push the memories away. Wallowing in guilt over the past won't help now. It won't make Kurt any less injured, and it certainly won't close the distance that thousands of miles and too many years have forced between them.

♦ ♦ ♦

Blaine has never made his way through an airport so quickly before in his life – he feels almost like the lead in some cheesy romantic comedy, chasing his true love through the airport before it's all too late. He laughs bitterly then – there's a metaphor for his current situation in there and it's one he'd really rather not think about right now.

The lack of checked baggage and his scant regard for good manners – something he knows deep down will mortify him when he has the chance to think about it – has Blaine outside the terminal in no time. He jumps into the first vacant cab he sees, ignores the outraged cries of the woman he just snuck in front of, and gasps, "Cedars Sinai," to the driver.

He's never been to LA before, but despite spending the entire journey with his gaze fixed out of the window, Blaine takes in very little of his surroundings. The entire focus of his concentration is in a hospital bed somewhere, fighting for his life. Or at least, Blaine hopes he is. Kurt's always been one of life's fighters, no matter what was thrown at him, and Blaine can only hold onto this thought and pray that nothing has changed in this respect over the years.

Thankfully the driver doesn't seem to have the incessant need to chat that characterises New York's cabbies, and Blaine's eternally grateful for that. The thought of making idle, meaningless chatter right now is just too much. And despite the time he's already had to himself, Blaine still needs more of it to gather his thoughts, to rationalise his actions and what they might mean.

Never is this more blindingly clear to him than when the cab pulls up outside the hospital. It makes sense, when he thinks about it – Kurt is public property now, after all – but in that moment he can only stare in surprise at the hoards of press and fans alike that have massed outside.

He's vaguely aware of the driver talking to him, but Blaine's not realising listening. Because suddenly everything seems blindingly real and his heart is climbing it's way out of his chest and lodging itself firmly in his throat.

He hands over a handful of bills with no idea of how many or much, and doesn't wait around for any change. He grabs his bag off the seat beside him and exits the car, exhaling a loud breath that's drowned out by the slam of the door behind.

A few curious glances come his way as Blaine strides purposefully towards the main doors. He can hear the soft weeping and occasional anguished cry from the crowd of fans – mainly young girls – who have gathered outside in some kind of impromptu vigil. Blaine can't help but smile at that despite the gravity of the situation – he can only imagine Kurt's amusement at having become a teenage heart-throb.

It's been a long time since Blaine has set foot in a hospital – not since that ill-fated Sadie Hawkins dance – but not even the passing years have dulled the memory. He'd like to think it was the sudden jolt of air-conditioning after the California sunshine that makes him shudder, but deep down, Blaine knows otherwise.

Blaine pauses then, takes a moment to collect himself _and_ his thoughts. The whole time his focus has been simply on getting here – and it's only now, with Kurt so near, that Blaine realises he has no idea what to do next. Like always, he hasn't thought this through. So he does the only thing he can.

With a wary look at the various police officers dotted around the entrance, Blaine approaches the reception desk, his most winning smile plastered to his face. Blaine's modest but he's no fool – he knows when he tries that he can charm the socks of most people. He can only hope that it works on petite nurses in pink scrubs with entirely too severe bangs.

"Hi." As opening gambits go, it wasn't Blaine's most impressive to date. But he rests one arm on the desk and hopes that his smile makes up for the lack of articulacy. 

"Welcome to _Cedars Sinai_." Friendly eyes peer up at Blaine from under a curtain of thick, dark hair. "How can I help you?"

"Kurt Hummel," Blaine blurts out, and then watches as the friendly expression fades into something entirely more suspicious.

"I see." The nurse – Amanda, according to her name badge – has her full attention on him now. "And are you a family member?"

"No." Blaine shakes his head and his heart sinks just a little because he knows where this is going.

"Then I'm afraid—"

"Please." Blaine realises he's about to get the brush off and figures he has nothing to lose. "Kurt's..." Blaine glances around nervously. "We used to be together; we're friends now. Only, I live in New York and haven't seen him in forever and then I saw his accident on the news this morning and I had to come."

Her expression is a little incredulous and Blaine can't help but smile sheepishly. "I have a reputation for being impulsive," he admits with a small shrug.

Her smile is a little sad then, regretful almost. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not able to divulge any patient information."

Blaine rakes his hands through is curls in frustration. He struggles to remain calm, because it's not her fault. She's just doing her job. But, oh, it's so hard when she seems to be the one thing standing in the way of him seeing Kurt.

"Can you at least tell me if he's still alive?" Blaine's shamelessly giving her _puppy eyes_ right now – Wes would have a field day if he could see him, but frankly, right now Blaine can't bring himself to care.

There's quite a long pause then and for an awful moment Blaine thinks he's going to be denied, or worse still, he's going to hear it's too late. He grips the edge of the desk, knuckles white. "He's not..." The words stick in his throat, refuse to come out, and Blaine feels vaguely sick even thinking them.

"No, he's not." For the briefest of moments there's the warm touch of a hand covering Blaine's. It's gone just as quickly, and Blaine can't help but wonder just how terrible he must look when complete strangers feel the need to offer comfort.

Only once before have three words affected Blaine so profoundly, and that's a memory he's resolutely _not_ allowing himself to think of right now. The relief he feels is overwhelming, and there's a moment when Blaine feels the prickle of tears sting his eyes. He scrubs at them with one hand. 

"Sorry," he says, and can't quite keep the tremble out of his voice. "It's just, I haven't seen Kurt in two years, and the thought that I might never get..." Blaine trails off with a shake of his head. "I just couldn't bear it."

"I understand." The hand is back, warm and soft, and patting Blaine's trembling one gently. "Look, why don't you grab yourself a coffee and a seat, and I'll see what I can do for you."

The rush of gratitude that sweeps through Blaine is startling, and it's all he can do not to drag this woman over the counter and squeeze her hard. "Really?" His voice comes out as more of a croak, but the hope in it is unmistakeable.

"No promises, though," she says, and there's something like affection in her tone. "I can't just give you details of his condition – it'd be my job for starters if anyone found out."

Blaine's torn then – because he wants, needs her help, but stranger or not, Blaine can't bear the thought of her losing her job over him. He opens his mouth reluctantly, but there's no need.

"And only family are allowed upstairs. But maybe if one of them vouches for you." She pauses for a moment and watches Blaine closely. "What's your name?"

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson." Blaine's words almost trip over each other in their eagerness to get out.

It earns him a small smile and one last pat. "Okay, well you go make yourself comfortable, and I'll see what I can arrange."

There's a Starbucks to the right, so Blaine does as he's bid. He fumbles in his pocket for change as he takes his place in the queue. He waits for what feels like forever while the admittedly cute Barista fills a cup with medium drip and hands it back to him.

He pays for it quickly and then focuses on the other instruction he received. The waiting room is surprisingly quiet, and it's a simple case for Blaine to find himself a seat, tucked away in the corner – hidden from most of the room, but still visible to the desk.

Blaine has no idea how long he sits there, staring out into nothing – but he's a churning mass of fear and hope and other things he'd rather not put a name to right now. So he concentrates on breathing – in and out, slowly, evenly – and it's enough to calm him just for a short while.

It all goes out the window though when he hears his name called, and looks up to find Finn heading determinedly towards him. There's an awful moment when Blaine can't read the emotion on Finn's face – it looks, for a second, like anger, and Blaine starts to panic that once again he's overstepped by coming here.

But then Finn's right there, and Blaine gets to his feet automatically – because whatever's coming, he's going to face it like a man. And the next thing he knows, Finn's arms are around him, hugging him so tight, and the relief in the way Finn says his name is palpable.

When they pull apart, Blaine takes a moment to look at Finn. He looks a little older maybe, and tired, but overall he hasn't really changed. Except for the fear in his eyes – that's definitely new.

Finn claps him heavily on the shoulder and Blaine's forced to step back to retain his balance. 

"Finn, it's good to see you." Blaine glances at their surroundings and then adds," Or it would be under better circumstances."

Finn's grip on Blaine's shoulder tightens slightly, and if possible the shadows in his eyes darken. "Seriously dude, you have no idea how good it is to see a familiar face." Finn takes his hand back and scrubs roughly at his hair. "They keep coming to me with forms and questions about Kurt, but I don't know what to do for the best and I..." Finn's words tail off and he seems almost to shrink in on himself.

Blaine nods, because really he has no idea what else to do. Finn and he got on well, were friends even, but they weren't exactly close. Finn was always his boyfriend's big brother.

"Burt and Carole?" he asks, because it seems odd that Finn would be here without them. And the last time Blaine was back home, Finn was still in Lima.

"Should be here in a couple of hours," Finn replies with a quick glance at his watch. "Thank god. I shouldn't be the one making these decisions, you know?"

Blaine nods again, and then, because he still really isn't sure what to say, he reaches out and pats Finn's shoulder. It's a little more awkward given Finn's _beanstalk_ status, but he manages it anyway.

And then, in a day that seems to have been full of nothing but them, Blaine gets yet another shock. He's barely lifted his hand back off Finn's shoulder before long arms wrap around his shoulders, and he finds himself crushed against Finn's chest again. 

"I don't know what I'm doing," Finn admits so quietly, and there's something almost broken in his voice has Blaine returning the hug with equal measure. 

"It'll be fine." Blaine's not usually one for meaningless platitudes, and he really has no way of knowing if this is true or not, but he _has_ to say something.

Finn lets out a shaky laugh and pulls back. "Sorry," he says, with a sheepish grin. "I'm just so relieved and I didn't even know you were in LA."

Blaine gives a shaky laugh of his own. "I wasn't. I only got in a couple of hours ago. I just...I saw the news and panicked, and got the first flight out I could."

"From New York?" 

"Yes." It sounds crazy even to Blaine's own ears, so he can't even begin to imagine what Finn makes of it.

But all Finn does is gaze at him thoughtfully for a moment and says nothing. Blaine's just starting to feel incredibly awkward when a smile breaks out across Finn's face. He claps his hand on Blaine's shoulder again. "Come on. I'll take you up." 

Blaine follows silently, having to walk a little quicker than usual to keep up with Finn's loping stride. As he passes the desk, he offers a small nod to the nurse – she gives him an encouraging smile in return which causes the band of tension in Blaine's chest to loosen slightly.

They begin the journey in silence. Blaine's desperate to ask, needs to know just what's going on, but he doesn't want to push. Clearly Finn's already feeling the strain and the last thing Blaine wants to do is add to it.

"Kurt's a fighter," Finn says suddenly. 

Blaine nods, and then, because he realises Fin can't actually see that, he adds, "He is," and tries to inject as much conviction into it as possible. "How—"

"He's in surgery." Finn comes to a halt in front of a door and pushes it open. He gestures to Blaine to enter. "Perks of being a celebrity, I guess," he says, gesturing to the small, but comfortably furnished lounge.

Blaine walks in and sinks into the nearest available chair with a sigh of relief. It's only then that he notices they're not alone. There's a woman in there as well, and for a moment Blaine thinks she must be another visitor, but then she fixes Finn with what can only be described as a glare.

"Who's this?" she demands, with a nod in Blaine's direction. "You can't just be bringing—"

"It's Blaine." Finn cuts her off, and from the lack of patience in his tone, Blaine surmises this isn't the first time they've clashed.

She doesn't look impressed. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" She stalks across the room until she's almost toe to toe with Finn. "This is supposed to be family only. He could be anyone." 

"Blaine _is_ family." Finn rubs tiredly at his face. "I mean, he might as well be."

Even with the worry and panic he's feeling about Kurt right now, Blaine still feels a surge of warmth shoot through him at Finn's words. There had been a time when he'd felt like he was a part of the Hummel family, but with the demise of his and Kurt's relationship, he'd thought those days were long gone. Even though he still exchanges emails with Carole, the odd phone call with Burt, and sporadic Facebook contact with Finn, Blaine has just assumed he's been relegated to _acquaintance_.

"Just leave it, yeah, Stacey?" Finn sinks down into a seat with a deep sigh as well. "Blaine's staying. _I_ want him here, and Kurt would too."

There's no further argument and it seems Finn's made his point. _Stacey_ gives them both one last look of disgust, then turns on her heel and stalks from the room.

"She's feisty," Blaine observes, once the echo of the slamming door has faded. "Friend of yours?"

"She's Kurt's PA." Finn slumps back in his seat, head against the wall, and turns slightly to look at Blaine. "She means well, I guess. But she can be a little bit..."

"Forceful?" Blaine suggests with a wry smile.

"I was going to say _bitchy_ ," Finn says, and grins. "But we'll go with yours."

Blaine falls silent for a moment. It's ridiculous really, but the fact that Kurt's assistant – someone who obviously knows Kurt very well – has never heard of him, had looked blank at the name _Blaine_ , it hurts just a little. Yes, they've been broken up for some time, but Kurt's never far away from Blaine's mind, and he had foolishly cherished a hope that the same was true in return.

"How is Kurt? Really?"

Finn lets his eyes drift closed and he bangs his head against the wall with a soft thud. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I've had doctors and surgeons talking at me all morning, but most of it was gibberish. He's...he's got broken bones – ankle, ribs, arm, and something else I can't remember. He's cut up pretty bad from what I could see of him too. But it's...they said he's bleeding inside, and one of his ribs has gone into his lung." Finn shakes his head slowly. "They'll do everything they can, I know that. But he looked so small." Finn's eyes are open now and fixed on Blaine. "If you'd seen him in that bed all broken and bleeding..."

Blaine screws his own eyes up tight, trying everything he can to prevent the mental images prodding the edges of his senses. The Kurt he remembers was so vital, so full of life, and he can't bear to think of him so weak. "Did they say how long it would take?" he asks, trying his hardest to keep the fear from his voice.

"He's been down there about an hour so far. They couldn't say how long, though, until they found out where the bleeding was coming from."

"So we just wait then," Blaine says, more out of a need to say _something_ than anything else.

Finn nods. "Wait. Yes."

♦ ♦ ♦

After the first couple of hours, Blaine loses track of time. He's lost count of the number of vile cups of coffee he's drunk, the times he's paced restlessly across their private waiting room, or the number of times Finn has huffed loudly and demanded _what the hell's taking them so long?_.

When the door slams open loudly, Blaine's in the middle of another trek across the room. He stops dead and spins on his heel – hope and fear warring madly in his gut. He turns just in time to see Finn engulfed in a bone-crushing hug by his mom, swiftly followed by Burt.

Blaine doesn't say anything. He quietly takes his seat again and averts his eyes, not wanting to intrude on such a private family moment. It's harder to ignore the conversation – impossible even, unless he stuffs his fingers in his ears, which Blaine really isn't about to do – and the fear and pain in Burt's voice causes a lump to lodge itself firmly in Blaine's throat. 

He's so intent on making himself invisible, that Blaine jumps in surprise at the feel of Carole's hand on his shoulder. He turns to her, eyes wide in shock, and his heart clenches painfully at the sight of tears in her eyes. Instinctively Blaine's on his feet and holding her tightly before he's even had chance to process the thought. There was a time when this woman was the closest thing he had to a mother, and even now, after all these years, he still cares deeply.

"Blaine, honey, it's lovely to see you."

Blaine releases her slowly and gives the brightest smile he can manage. "You, too. I just wish..." He doesn't finish his sentence, doesn't have to because Carole nods in understanding.

"I know," she says softly. "Under happier circumstances."

Blaine nods and then turns slightly because Burt's crossed the room to them, and when Blaine holds out his hand in greeting, Burt makes a dismissive noise and hugs him tightly instead. Not for the first time that day Blaine's forced to blink back the tears that prick his eyes – only this time it's not for Kurt, it's for himself and the memory of just how wonderful it once felt to be part of this family.

They sit then, closely huddled together, each lost in their own thoughts. And somehow, even though nothing has changed, just the presence of Burt and Carole helps Blaine to relax, gives him renewed hope that everything will be okay – and a quick look at Finn's expression tells Blaine that he's not alone in this.

And fortunately the staying power of this new found emotion isn't put to much of a test because the door opens after a short while and there's a man standing there. A surgeon, Blaine assumes, based on the blue scrubs and mask hanging loosely around his neck. Everyone else is on their feet in seconds, but Blaine stays seated, the grip of fear having returned with full force, and tries his hardest to read _something_ into the doctor's expression.

He doesn't have much luck – it's inscrutable. But fortunately for Blaine's sanity, Burt is quickly demanding the answers to questions that he dare not give voice to for fear of the answers. Words like _success_ and _full recovery_ make their way into Blaine's brain and he moves as if on autopilot. He crosses the room and hovers uncertainly on the edge of the family group – unwilling to intrude, but unable to bear not knowing for any longer.

Carole turns to him slightly and offers a watery smile, so Blaine reaches for her hand and squeezes gently.

"He's going to be okay," she whispers, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"Can we see him?" Burt's shaking the doctor's hand enthusiastically, and Blaine can't help but smile to himself at this.

"Let the man's hand go, Burt." Carole smiles affectionately at her husband, who only then seems to realise just what he's doing.

"Sorry." Burt pulls his hand away and scratches absently at his head. 

"It's fine." And judging from the expression on the doctor's face, it really is. This is probably one of the more pleasant aspects of his job, Blaine assumes.

"So when can we see him?" Burt repeats eagerly.

"He's in recovery at the moment, Mr Hummel. It'll take an hour or so for the anaesthetic to wear off properly, and then we'll transfer Kurt up to the High Dependency Unit."

"I thought you said he was okay?" Finn looms tall about the rest of them, his face a mask of confusion and worry.

"The operation was a success," the doctor explains patiently. "We've stopped the bleeding and repaired the damage to his lung, but Kurt's still an extremely sick young man. He has numerous broken bones and has just had major surgery. There are no certainties in medicine, and while I believe he will make a full recovery now, he still needs constant monitoring and pain management."

"So you're saying we can't see him?" The joy has faded from Burt's face and the worry returned.

"Not at all. I'm just saying it may be awhile." The doctor glances briefly at the clock high on the wall. "Look, it's late now. What I suggest is that you all get some much-needed rest and then come back in the morning. We'll have Kurt settled by then."

"I'm going nowhere." There's a determined set to Burt's chin, and Blaine knows exactly how he feels.

The doctor doesn't seem surprised by the reaction, he just nods briefly. "I'll send someone to let you know when we're ready. It could be a few hours yet, though."

Burt just nods curtly and then sits back down, his arms folded firmly across his chest.

Once the doctor's left, Carole takes the seat next to her husband and places her hand gently on his knee. "We'll wait together," she says softly. 

Burt smiles in gratitude, and then turns his attention to Blaine and Finn. "You boys should get some rest. You've been here all day, Finn, and Blaine, you must be exhausted with the time zone changes."

Until Burt points it out, Blaine hasn't given a thought to jet lag. But now that he does, he realises that for him, at least, it's actually almost three AM and he hasn't been to bed yet. He's been running on fear and adrenalin most of the day, but it's only now as that fades that he feels bone-aching tiredness sweep through him. 

But despite that, the idea of leaving while Kurt is still suffering, still in pain, just doesn't feel right. So Blaine opens his mouth to protest, to deny he's anything but fresh as a daisy, but Finn's already nodding his agreement, and Burt's giving him that familiar _don't argue with me_ look.

Blaine closes his mouth and accepts defeat even before he's begun. His shoulders slump a little further when he realises it isn't that simple, that it's not just a case of going home and crawling into bed. Because _his_ bed is thousands of miles away, and Blaine had been so busy panicking about _getting_ to LA, that he hadn't given any thought to where he'd stay once there.

"C'mon, dude." Finn gives Blaine what's starting to seem like his signature pat on the shoulder. "Don't know about you, but I'm exhausted." He turns to his parents briefly. "You'll call us if anything changes? Anything at all?"

"Of course," Burt replies, and Carole nods her agreement, and that seems to be good enough for Finn, because he's already heading for the door.

♦ ♦ ♦

Kurt's house is big and fancy and reminds Blaine of those interior design magazines his mother used to subscribe to. It's beautiful, there's no denying that – the decor a mixture of modern and classic blended together to produce something that should be _so_ Kurt, but just isn't.

Even though it's dark and he's practically exhausted when they arrive, Blaine can't help but be struck by just how impersonal it all feels. If it weren't for the fact he already knew, there was nothing to tell him who lived there. No photographs, no mementos, and no personal touches of any kind – it all makes Blaine ache just a little bit.

He sinks down onto the sofa and is immensely grateful to find it more comfortable than it looks – it would be a long night otherwise.

"Come on." Finn hovers over him, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "You might as well use Kurt's room while you're here."

Blaine blanches slightly at the suggestion. "I can't do that." He shakes his head as if to enforce the words. "It wouldn't be right."

Finn frowns a little. "There isn't anywhere else. Kurt's turned the other bedroom into a big-ass closet, so it's his bed or..."

"It's fine." Blaine suppresses a smile at the memory of just how much Kurt had longed for a walk in closet of that size. "I can sleep on here," he says, pressing down slightly on the sofa cushions to illustrate his point.

Finn frown deepens. "You can't do that. It's...well, it's not right." He pauses for a moment, clearly thinking, and Blaine can't help but be amused by the expression on his face.

"I really don't mind, Finn."

Finn shakes his head. "No need. _I'll_ take Kurt's room, and you can have mine. The maid was in this morning, so you don't even have to put up with my dirty sheets."

Blaine smiles gratefully – he's tired enough that he could sleep almost anywhere, but the prospect of a bed is infinitely more appealing than the comfiest of sofas. He takes the hand that Finn's holding out, and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

They make their way upstairs in silence, and Blaine is further saddened to note the impersonal theme seems to run throughout. 

"There you go." Finn's voice cuts through the silence, startling Blaine from his thoughts. Finn pushes the door open and flicks on the light. "Bathroom's ensuite," he says. "And I'm just down the hall if you need anything."

Blaine nods. "Thanks." He turns to Finn and smiles faintly. "G'night."

Finn nods in return. "G'night." Then, after a beat, adds, "He'll be okay. Kurt, I mean."

"Yes." Blaine tries to sound as convincing as he can because despite being phrased as a statement, he can tell Finn's seeing reassurance. "He'll be fine."

Finn's expression clears at that. He smiles tiredly and turns to leave. Blaine drops his bag on the floor, shuts the door, and then collapses on the bed fully clothed – if only his own fears were so easily assuaged.

♦ ♦ ♦

"You want some eggs?"

Blaine rubs at his bleary eyes and it takes a moment to focus. But when he does, he can't help but gape slightly at the sight of Finn in front of the stove, frying pan in hand.

"You cook?" he asks, and then kicks himself mentally for the incredulous tone.

Finn clearly doesn't take offence. He grins broadly and begins spooning the eggs onto rafts of toast. "Single guy," he says, placing the pan back on the stove top. "It was either learn to cook, or starve."

Blaine smiles wryly; he remembers that stage well. "Thanks," he says gratefully, and can't help but inhale deeply. "Smells good."

"I'm a mean breakfast cook," Finn says, words muffled by a mouthful of toast. "Other meals, not so much."

"Nothing wrong with breakfast," Blaine comments, as he pulls out a stool and perches at the counter. "Best meal of the day."

Finn just grins in reply and hands him the pot of coffee; Blaine practically falls on it in relief. 

"You're as bad as Kurt with that," Finn observes casually. "Must be all those _coffee dates_ you guys had back in high school."

"Probably," Blaine replies, between gulps. It's the first proper cup he's had in what feels like days, and he's busily savouring it as if it were his last. "Any word from the hospital," he asks, finally acknowledging the elephant in the room.

"Not yet," Finn says, and Blaine tries not to wince visibly at the sight of his mouthful of chewed food. "It's still early though. If I haven't heard by ten, I say we just go in anyway."

Blaine nods his agreement at this. It's not that he doesn't like Finn's company, but that really isn't why he flew thousands of miles cross-country. "Are you still in Lima?" Blaine asks, before the silence has chance to become uncomfortable.

Finn nods before taking a deep gulp of his juice. "Yeah. I'm working full-time at the elementary school now."

"That's great." Blaine remembers the surprise he felt upon hearing of Finn's career choice – not that he'd ever given it much thought, if he was honest, but teaching seemed to have come completely out of the blue. And yet, from what Blaine had gathered on his infrequent visits back home, Finn was not only good at it, but the kids loved him too.

"You see Rachel much?" Finn is clearly trying hard to sound casual, but he's failing miserably.

Blaine nods, because he's not going to lie. Although New York is a big city, he and Rachel do move in some of the same circles, and while they're by no means best of friends, they still see each other regularly. 

"She okay?" 

Blaine feels for Finn. He's in a better position than anyone to understand how Finn feels – they'd both come in second behind career with the people they loved. The only difference was that Rachel had never made a secret of her dreams, her future plans. Kurt, on the other hand...

"She's good," he says finally after a moment. "She's in rehearsals for some Broadway show." Blaine smiles sheepishly. "She did say what it was, but I'm afraid I wasn't really listening."

Finn grins at that. "I know that feeling." Then he takes another sip of his drink. "She still with Jesse?"

There's no point lying so Blaine just nods. "They moved in together a couple of months ago." He suspects that an engagement is very much on the cards, but he's not about to bring that up any time soon.

"That's good. I'm glad she's doing well." And Finn actually sounds like he means it.

Blaine looks up in surprise.

"What?" Finn asks defensively. "We broke up years ago. You expect me to still be pining for her like some sad loser?"

And that hits just a little bit too close to home for Blaine. He feels the flush creep over his face before he has chance to do anything about it. He doesn't reply, because really what can he say to that? He _is_ that loser, apparently. So he takes a long, deep drink of his coffee instead, and allows the caffeine to wash over him.

It takes Finn a moment or two to realise what he's said. "Oh shit, I'm sorry, dude. You know I don't mean you, right?" 

"I know." Blaine knows Finn didn't, but that doesn't really help the slightly sick feeling that his words have caused. "But you have a point," he admits finally. "I mean, look at me. Kurt and I broke up years ago, I haven't even spoken to him in two, and yet I just flew thousands of miles to be at his bedside. What does that say about me?"

"That you care?" 

"Caring would have been a phone call, a bouquet of flowers. A first class flight from New York to LA is something else altogether."

"But it's different with you and Kurt," Finn insists stubbornly. "Me and Rachel were never going to last – we could barely make it through a week without breaking up. But you guys, you were solid."

"Not solid enough," Blaine mutters, trying not to let the bitter memories consume him.

"Seriously," Finn presses. "You two had something special – everyone was convinced you were going to end up married and adopt a bunch of Chinese orphans."

"But we didn't, did we?" Blaine snaps, because this conversation is just dredging up bad memories, and he really can't see the point.

"You still could, though." Finn gazes at him earnestly. "You're both single, you obviously still care for each other—"

"Kurt's told you that, has he?" Blaine's trying for scornful, but ends up somewhere nearer hope.

"No," Finn admits, and Blaine's heart sinks again. "But he doesn't have to. It's obvious."

Blaine sighs tiredly and rubs at his face. For just a moment he was hoping that Finn was going to offer irrefutable proof of Kurt's undying love, but Blaine's not going to hang his hopes on a hunch – and certainly not one of Finn's. He pushes his plate away and slips off the stool. "I'm gonna head up for a shower," he says, not wanting to get into it any further. He's halfway across the room when Finn calls him back.

"He's not happy here," Finn blurts out hurriedly. "He buries himself in work because he's lonely. He doesn't really have any friends, and you were the last proper boyfriend he had."

The words shouldn't make Blaine happy, and if he's honest, they don't, not really. But Blaine's no saint, and he can't deny the jolt of _something_ he feels at Finn's last words. He doesn't say anything though, he just keeps on walking – he needs time alone to think.

♦ ♦ ♦

Burt rings while Blaine's in the shower, so he barely has time to get wet before Finn's hollering up the stairs at him, and he's struggling, damp, into clean clothes.

There are reporters outside the hospital still, fans too. Blaine's sure he recognises some of the young girls from the day before, and hopes to god they didn't spend all night out there.

"Mad, isn't it," Finn says with a nod at the crowd. "I mean, I always had a feeling Kurt would make something of himself, but i never thought he'd have teenagers lusting after him."

Blaine smiles and adds, "Not girls, anyway."

Finn lets out a burst of laughter, garnering them a little attention. Blaine places a hand on his elbow and steers them quickly towards the door.

"Doesn't seem to put them off, though," Finn continues, once they're inside. "It's not like Kurt hides what he is. But you should see some off the stuff those kids put up on the internet about him."

Blaine doesn't even have to wonder about this, because he knows. He's Googled Kurt's name on more than one occasion. He doesn't say anything though – it's not really the sort of thing he wants to admit to Kurt's step-brother of all people.

They head up to Kurt’s room in silence. Being out of the hospital for that short time had allowed them to relax almost, to take a step back from the oppressive atmosphere of pain and fear. But once they’re through those doors again, the all too familiar scent of disinfectant filling their nostrils, Blaine feels every inch of his body tense again.

Burt and Carole are in the corridor waiting to greet them. They look tired but otherwise none the worse for their night in the hospital. Blaine scans their faces quickly but there’s nothing there that gives him cause for further concern. So he takes a deep breath and just listens while Finn asks all the questions _he_ wants to know the answers to but doesn’t feel it’s his place to ask.

Finally Blaine’s nerves get the better of him. “Can we…” He nods in the direction of Kurt’s room – the window blinds are closed so he can’t look inside, and Blaine has to see for himself that Kurt’s okay, or as okay as he can be under the current circumstances.

“He’s out of it at the moment, but you can go sit with him if you want.”

Some of his panic at Burt’s words must show on Blaine’s face because Carole steps forward and places her hand on his arm gently. “He’s just a bit sedated,” she says quietly, mindful of their surroundings. “The pain medication they’ve got him on knocked him out, so he’s not really with-it right now.”

Blaine just nods his understanding – he can’t remember a time in his life before when he’s been at a loss for words quite as often as he has been these last few days.

“We’re going to head back to Kurt’s for awhile,” Carole continues, and Blaine can see from the expression on Burt’s face that this has been a matter of quite some debate. “Just to wash up, get something to eat – we won’t be long.”

Burt begins to mutter under his breath, but a meaningful look from his wife soon puts a stop to that. 

“We’ll call if there’s any change.” Blaine knows that this goes without saying, but he feels something other than a mute nod is required this time. 

He watches as Carole herds a still-protesting Burt off in the direction of the elevators, and then turns to Finn. “Shall we?”

Finn turns his head slowly to look at the closed door – Blaine recognises the reluctance on Finn’s face because he feels it too. It’s the strangest thing, because whilst he’s flown thousands of miles for that very purpose, now that he’s so close, Blaine feels more afraid then he’s ever felt in his life before. The thought of seeing Kurt, pale and fragile against the crisp, white hospital sheets is suddenly frighteningly real and Blaine is struck by an urge to flee.

“You go ahead,” Finn says finally. “I’ll just grab us a couple of coffees.” And he's gone before Blaine can say otherwise.

The few short feet from door to bedside feel like the longest distance Blaine has ever travelled, and he’s fighting a wave of nausea the whole time. And all he can think as he takes in the form on the bed is _that’s not Kurt_.

He looks so tiny, so lost amongst the stark whiteness of the room, and that beautiful face, usually so mobile and expressive, is now nothing more than a blank mask. If it weren’t for the almost imperceptible rise of Kurt’s chest and the way his mouth sometimes tightens with pain, it could almost look like Blaine’s too late.

Blaine reaches out instinctively, careful not to disturb the oxygen tube running under Kurt's nose. But the compulsion to touch, to feel the telling warmth of Kurt’s flesh against his skin is too strong to ignore. He gently brushes Kurt’s fringe back from his forehead and is forced to choke down a sob as he takes in the cuts and bruises that mar Kurt’s once-flawless skin.

“I’m so sorry.” Blaine speaks softly, almost a whisper, but the words seem to echo back at him mockingly in the silence punctuated only by the reassuring bleep of Kurt’s heart monitor. Blaine isn’t entirely sure _what_ he’s apologising for exactly – there’s so much – but it’s the only thing he can think to say right now. He lets his fingertips skim gently over the curve of Kurt’s cheek and says it again.

He leaps back like a thief caught in the act when Finn ambles through the door, coffees in hand.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Finn says. He’s holding out the coffee out to Blaine, but it’s obvious the way his eyes keep flickering towards the bed.

Blaine doesn’t even bother to fight the blush rising in his cheeks – he just doesn’t have the energy. He simply takes the drink, murmurs “thanks,” and then seats himself beside the bed. He busies himself with sipping his coffee, more out of a sense of awkwardness than any real thirst. But finally Blaine can’t avoid the moment any longer, and when he looks up, slowly, reluctantly, it’s to find Finn’s watching him intently.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

From the tone of his voice, Blaine knows that this isn’t a question, and he curses the fates that have seen Finn choose this moment of all to suddenly become perceptive. He nods almost helplessly, because there’s really no point in trying to deny what he knows is already written all over his face. “I didn’t realise,” he admits, and rather than face the expression of pity on Finn’s face, Blaine turns his attention back to Kurt.

♦ ♦ ♦

Burt and Carole return a few hours later and Blaine can’t help but feel relived for the distraction. Because between Kurt’s almost lifeless form, and the faintly smug looks Finn keeps shooting between the two of them, Blaine’s feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

Unfortunately as it turns out, that relief doesn’t last for long. While there’s something wonderful to Blaine in the obvious love between this family – as long as he ignores the lack of it in his own – it also doesn’t take too long before it makes him feel like an intruder. That’s he’s forced his way into what should be an intensely private moment, and rather than let the feeling fester, or, god forbid, wait for the moment one of them has to ask him to leave, Blaine gets to his feet. He murmurs an almost inaudible excuse and heads to the door.

“Something we said, buddy?”

Blaine pauses at the sound of Burt’s voice – he’d give anything to keep on walking, but years of ingrained manners won’t let him. “I’m just gonna...” he gestures feebly towards the door. “I should leave you guys alone for a while.”

There’s a familiar concern in Burt’s gaze now, and both Carole and Finn are looking at him with similar expressions.

“You don’t have to leave on our accounts, kiddo. The doc says he’ll be coming round soon; he’ll want to see you.”

Blaine wishes he could feel even part of the confidence both Finn and Burt seem to feel over Kurt’s reaction, but he doesn’t. Blaine just keeps picturing the look of surprise in Kurt’s eyes when he wakes, and the confusion he’ll undoubtedly feel as to just what the hell Blaine is doing there.

“I just need some fresh air,” Blaine says weakly. “I won’t be long.”

Burt gazes at him thoughtfully for a while longer and then nods. It’s not as if Blaine was actually asking permission, but he feels all the better for having received it.

Blaine doesn’t go far as it turns out. He takes a slow walk down to the cafeteria with half an idea of grabbing some food – even if he knows it will taste like ash in his mouth. Only once he gets there he remembers exactly where his wallet is – and it’s not in his pocket. So ignoring his grumbling stomach, which, in its perversity, has now decided it _is_ hungry, Blaine takes a slow walk back from where he came.

There’s a flurry of movement inside the room by the time he gets back. Burt and Carole and Finn – all of them are on their feet, hovering excitedly at one side of Kurt’s bed, their gazes shifting from the bed itself to the doctor leaning over it.

However much of an intruder he felt before, the feeling returns to Blaine tenfold now. There’s quite obviously a sheen of tears in Burt’s eyes, and from the way Carole’s hanging on to him tightly, it’s clear she’s not far behind. And Finn, he has the dopiest grin ever on his face and it’s like the most wonderful sight ever, because that, more than anything, tells Blaine that things are going to be okay, that the doctor’s presence is nothing to fear.

Blaine’s about to turn away, to make himself scarce for a little while longer when Finn’s new found perceptiveness seems to return. He looks up, spots Blaine, and gestures eagerly for him to come inside.

But Blaine can’t. aside from the overwhelming desire _not_ to intrude, it seems that his feet no longer work. Even as he wills them to move, albeit in the opposite direction, they just won’t comply. And the grip of fear and panic that seems to have been Blaine’s constant companion these last two days returns full force. Because clearly Kurt’s awake now, and that means Blaine’s going to have to confront the implications of his rash actions – both for him and _them_ – and that’s not something he’s sure he’s ready to do yet.

The doctor comes out then, nods at Blaine and carries on his way, and the family Hummel close around the bed, obscuring Blaine’s view of its occupant. It becomes clear that his presence has been mentioned because Finn’s leaning over the bed, glancing uncertainly in Blaine’s direction every few seconds, and just as Blaine is summoning every ounce of courage he never knew he had, so he can just get this over with, Finn’s saving him the trouble.

“He’s awake,” Finn says, somewhat redundantly as he emerges from the room.

Blaine nods “I wasn’t sure whether to come in or not – I thought you guys could use a moment.”

Finn shuffles somewhat awkwardly and glances behind. “He knows you’re here. Kurt, I mean. But he’s…” Finn tails off here and Blaine has never seen him look so acutely uncomfortably.

“It’s okay,” Blaine says with a certainty he definitely does _not_ feel. “He’s just come round from surgery – it’s only natural he’s not feeling up to visitors just yet.”

Finn raises one hand and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not that. It’s…he doesn’t want to see _you_.”

Finn blurts out these last few words so quickly that for a moment Blaine can’t be sure he heard right. And when finally they do sink in, he’s not sad or angry or anything really, because in all the scenarios he’s envisaged happening, this possibility has never occurred to Blaine and he’s not sure how to react.

“Oh.” That about sums it up.

“Yeah.” Finn’s gaze is glued downwards now, and ironically it’s _him_ Blaine feels sorry for, not himself, because no one likes being the bearer of bad news.

“I should go.” Blaine doesn’t really think before he speaks, but now that the words are out there, he feels suddenly certain that this is the right thing to do. No one wants to be where they’re not wanted, and Blaine is no exception. And his recent actions which may, somewhere in the recesses of Blaine’s mind, have seemed rather romantic, now just leave him feeling rather foolish.

Only it’s not a simple case of turning on his heel and fleeing as fast as he possibly can in the direction of the next plane out. All Blaine’s things, his wallet included, are at Kurt’s house. So at the very least he’s going to have to go back there for that first.

“You don’t have to do that.” Finn finally meets Blaine’s gaze – his forehead is creased in concern.

“It’s fine.” Blaine shakes his head slightly in an effort to order his thoughts. “I should never have come; I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You’re going back to New York?” Finn’s eyes widen in apparent panic. “I thought you meant back to the house.”

“There’s no reason for me to stay.” Blaine shrugs in a feeble attempt at nonchalance.

“Dude, you can’t just leave. He doesn’t mean it. You just have to hang around for a while longer.”

“There’s no point.” Blaine begins, but stops in surprise when Finn reaches out and grabs hold of his arm.

“Just wait till tomorrow at least,” he says, fingers almost digging into Blaine’s flesh. “Let me talk to him again.”

If he’s honest, the last thing Blaine wants to do right now is get on another plane – his body’s still fighting the tiredness from last time. But even if he stays, he has to get out of the hospital, away from Kurt, go somewhere he can think, because it’s become apparent to him over the last forty eight hours that, despite time and distance, Kurt is still an important part of his life. Only it seems that he’s realised this far too late, and Blaine really doesn’t know what to do with this information now.

When Finn hands over the key, he gives Blaine a smile that’s almost painful in its obvious sympathy. “Just promise me you’ll still be there when I get back.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Blaine’s still awake by the time everyone gets back from the hospital. He’s tried a few times to sleep but there’s just no way his brain is letting that happen any time soon.

In an effort to take his mind off things, he’d called Wes, mainly to bemoan his current state, but also for advice. Blaine usually prides himself on being self-sufficient, but this is one occasion where he has no idea what to do, and Wes is pretty much the only person he trusts enough to listen to.

Surprisingly Wes’s advice had run much along the same line as Finn’s – to stay put just a while longer, to give Kurt a little more time to adjust – because as much of a surprise as Blaine’s rashness had been to him and Wes, it must be doubly shocking for Kurt. And then there was that whole ‘car wreck’ incident too.

Before Blaine was able to say anymore, to run a few of his well-worn ‘what if’ scenarios past Wes, Wes’s fiancée takes the phone and says that while she’s incredibly sympathetic to Blaine’s predicament, it’s actually 2am in New York and could he please call back at a more appropriate hour.

Blaine’s barely ended the call before he has company. Finn slumps down on the sofa beside him, long legs stretched out on the coffee table, and offers Blaine one of the two beer bottles in his hand.

“I figured we could probably both do with one of these.”

Blaine takes it without argument – he’s not much of a drinker, mainly because it never ends well, but right now he could use a little help dulling the pain.

“Mom and Burt have gone to bed,” Finn says when Blaine doesn’t respond. “It’s been a long day.”

Blaine nods, and then when he realises Finn’s gaze is on the TV and not on him, he says “Yeah.” Then sips slowly at his drink.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here.” Finn turns to face him now and Blaine steels himself to meet his gaze. “Thought you might have bolted for the airport.”

Blaine shrugs, but doesn’t say anything, because the thought has crossed his mind several times an hour ever since he left the hospital.

Finn raises the bottle to his lips and tilts his head back while he drains it, and Blaine can’t help but hope the conversation is over.

It isn’t.

“I talked to Kurt,” Finn says as he carefully places the empty bottle on the table.

“Oh.” Blaine tenses – he’s really not up for hearing round two of how Kurt never wants to see him again.

Finn doesn’t say anything further for a moment. He just stares at Blaine, a thoughtful expression on his face. As Blaine begins to frantically search for something to say, anything to change the subject and break the tension, Finn leans over and plucks the half-drunk beer from his hand.

“Come on.” Finn gets to his feet and towers over Blaine.

“Where to?”

“There’s something you need to see. It’ll explain things much better than I can.”

Blaine feels a certain amount of apprehension as he gets up and follows Finn – but curiosity wins out. They head up stairs and before he knows it, they're outside Kurt's room. Blaine's wary now and he comes to a halt.

"I don't think..." he doesn't carry on because it's pointless. Finn's already opened the door and walked inside.

Finally there's a room in the house that says Kurt. In fact, as Blaine takes in the dark woods and pale silks, he feels almost transported back to Lima and the room he spent some of his happiest moments in.

"Finn?" Blaine stares in confusion because Finn has come to a halt beside the beautifully covered bed, complete with array of scatter pillows, and has his back to Blaine.

When he turns round, slowly, there's a large picture frame in his hands that Blaine assumes has come from the bedside table. He thrusts it at Blaine who reaches for it instinctively.

"What—"

"Just look." Finn gestures at the frame, so Blaine does.

Ever since he heard about Kurt's accident, Blaine's emotions seem to have been in constant turmoil, but none of that compares to the feelings that start within him when he finds himself gazing down at his and Kurt's senior prom photo.

Both dressed in classic black suits, the violet of their corsages the only splash of colour in their otherwise monochromatic outfits – it's a photo that Blaine knows well. There was a copy of it in his room all the way through college, and it's only in the last year or so that he's packed it away – in a box full of other memories he's still not ready to part with.

Blaine tears his eyes away reluctantly and faces Finn again. There's something else in his hand now – a book. Dog-eared, slightly yellowed, and obviously well read, Finn is holding out a copy of Blaine's first novel. 

"You're not the only one who can't let go," Finn says. His words are quiet but they echo so loudly in Blaine's head.

"I don't understand." Blaine looks from the picture to the book and then back up at Finn's face.

Finn takes a deep breath and Blaine can tell from his posture that he's not exactly comfortable with the conversation. "He still loves you."

Blaine shakes his head, unable to believe this – partly because it makes no sense in the context of Kurt's reaction to his presence, but also because it's just _too_ good to be true. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Finn, but I think Kurt's made it perfectly clear—"

"He's scared." Finn tosses the book onto the silken bedspread then turns to face Blaine. "You guys haven’t spoken in like forever and then one day you just turn up out of the blue and he doesn’t know how to handle it."

"It's not exactly out of the blue," Blaine says as he leans forward and picks up the discarded book. He smoothes his fingertips across the worn cover. "I mean, if it hadn't been for Kurt's accident, I wouldn't be here."

"Exactly." Finn looks almost relieved. "And that's the problem. Kurt thinks you're here out of pity and nothing else, and he's scared of seeing you again because he still has all these feelings, and he thinks you don't, and he can't handle it." Finn pauses and rubs at his face. "Or something like that."

"Oh." It's about all Blaine can manage in the light of Finn's revelation.

Finn steps a little closer and rests one hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Just don't let him push you away so easily this time."

♦ ♦ ♦

So Blaine waits.

It's not like he has a day job that demands his presence between the hours of nine and five, nor does he have a boss to whom he needs to explain his whereabouts – so as long as Blaine keeps in touch with his publisher, who hasn't started pressing for a first draft of his new book yet – he's free to spend as much time there as he needs.

Which is a good thing, because it's another three days before Kurt finally caves. Blaine almost smiles at the reminder of Kurt stubbornness, but they've been three of the longest and most confusing days of his life, so Blaine's not feeling particularly nostalgic at this point.

"Go on." 

Blaine staggers forward under the weight of Finn's shoulder slap – one of these days he's really got to remind Finn of his own strength. For now, though, he just reaches out for the door handle, and is painfully aware of the slight tremble visible in his hand.

Apart from that brief visit while Kurt was still unconscious, it's been over two years since the two of them have been in the same room together. And even after summoning every last ounce of courage that he possesses, Blaine's still nervous as hell.

He glances behind once more and finds himself on the receiving end of an encouraging smile from Finn. Blaine returns it with a smaller, weaker one of his own. Then he squares his shoulders and pushes the door open before his nerves have the chance to change his mind again.

Kurt's asleep when he enters, so Blaine walks close to the bed and uses the opportunity to take everything in without interruption. He catalogues Kurt's injuries mentally – making note of every cut, every bruise – and comparing them to their condition on his earlier visit, Blaine is much relieved to see that Kurt is improving. It's going to be a long, drawn-out process – the doctors have left Blaine in no doubt of that – but he _will_ get there, and right now that knowledge is more than enough to get Blaine through the night.

Kurt's good arm, the one not in plaster and strapped securely to his chest, rests comfortably on top of the covers by his side. Blaine gazes down at his hand, fingers splayed gently on the bedspread, and the urge to touch, to hold becomes overwhelming. 

"Why are you here?"

Blaine jumps guiltily and immediately pulls his hand back. Too shocked to be consumed by his fear, Blaine turns his head to the side and finds Kurt watching him intently through slightly narrowed eyes. "Kurt," he says softly, and it's all he can manage because at that precise moment his brain and mouth do not appear to be cooperating.

" _Why_ are you here," Kurt repeats. He shifts his position slightly and then winces in obvious pain – Blaine starts forward at this, wanting to help, but a glare from Kurt stills his movement.

"I had to see you," Blaine says finally. "I saw your accident on the news; I was worried about you." He watches Kurt's face intently for a reaction, the slightest hint of emotion, but there’s nothing.

"I'm okay now." Kurt gives a vague flourish with his good hand. "So why are you _still_ here?"

It takes all of Blaine's will power _not_ to look away – Kurt's expression is cold, his tone emotionless, and it leaves Blaine off-balance because this is not the boy he knew. As the battle of wills shows no sign of abating, Blaine lets out a sigh and gets to his feet.

"Would you rather I left?"

Kurt looks away then – he turns his head to face the blank wall opposite. "Why not," he says, and the bitterness in his tone is unmistakeable. "You always were rather good at walking away."

Blaine's generally an easy-going soul; his temper takes a lot to rouse. But the sheer injustice of what Kurt's just said leaves him gasping for breath. "Don't you dare blame me for that. You're the one who stopped returning _my_ calls, Kurt. You were the one who cut me out of your life without so much as a word. What was I supposed to do?"

Kurt doesn't reply, doesn't move, and just lies there staring dumbly at the wall.

Blaine waits for a moment, just watching, but when it becomes apparent that this is it, he turns to go. Only, he's halfway to the door when he remembers Finn's words, and it occurs to Blaine that he's doing exactly what Finn asked him not to. So he turns right back around and sinks down into the empty chair at the bedside. 

"I don't want to fight with you, Kurt," he says quietly, and because he has a feeling that this is a make-or-break sort of moment, Blaine reaches out and covers Kurt's hand gently with his own.

"What _do_ you want?" Kurt turns back to face him now – his tone and expression are defensive, but it's not been so long that Blaine doesn't recognise the vulnerability in his eyes. Kurt's always had a tendency to lash out when he's uncertain, unsure, so Blaine decides that it's time to be honest.

"I was so scared," Blaine starts earnestly. He shuffles the chair nearer to the bed and resumes his hold on Kurt's hand. "Just the thought that you might die, and I'd never get to see you again..." Blaine trails off and gives his head a slight shake. Even though he knows that's not going to happen now, the thought of it still makes him feel nauseous. "I miss you. I don't want us to be strangers anymore."

There's silence then, and Kurt just watches Blaine for the longest time. His face gives no indication of what he's feeling, and with every passing second Blaine's stomach twists just that little bit more painfully. 

Just as Blaine's starting to curse Finn mentally, to believe that he's made a fool of himself, the slightest of smiles curves the edges of Kurt's lips. Then he turns his hand over so that his and Blaine's slot together in a perfect replica of what they had once been. 

"Me neither."

♦ ♦ ♦

"What happened? Why did you cut me off?"

It's another three days before Blaine dares to ask the question that's been plaguing him for the best part of two years. Kurt's much improved now – there are still the obvious mobility issues from the broken limbs and stitches, but the cuts are healing, and the bruises have faded to a mottled yellow -- something Kurt bemoans on a daily basis.

Kurt does what has now become his standard response when taxed with a question he doesn't want to answer – he turns his head to the side and presses his lips together. But Blaine's let this slide for three days – hell, he's let it slide for two years – and dammit, he wants answers.

"I don't know," Kurt answers stiffly.

Blaine takes hold of his hand and squeezes gently. "Kurt, please. Was it something I did?" 

These words, at least, provoke a reaction in Kurt. He turns back to face Blaine quickly – too quickly, if the grimace of pain on his face is anything to go by. Blaine is on his feet, hovering worriedly over him.

"Are you okay? Should I get the doctor?"

Kurt dismisses his concerns with a vague wave of his hand, and Blaine takes his seat in relief again – his eyes remain fixed intently to Kurt's face.

"It wasn't you." Kurt's voice is soft, uncertain as he begins to speak, and his eyes are fixed on his fingers as they twist in the bed sheets. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why?" Blaine's not above begging, because he _needs_ to know. "There must be a reason."

"It was Rachel," Kurt says, and damn if Blaine isn't confused now.

" _Rachel_ told you to stop talking to me?" Blaine runs one hand through his hair. "I don't understand," he admits.

Kurt shakes his head. "No, not like that. She just...remember that summer we talked about you coming out to visit? Just after I'd bought my house?"

Blaine nods. Of course he remembers – he'd had all these plans of talking to Kurt, of suggesting they try again, that he was willing to try living in LA if that was what it took. Not that any of that had happened, though, because it was shortly after they made these plans that radio silence commenced.

"I went back to Lima, to visit Dad and Carole, and bumped into Rachel. We hadn't seen each other in a couple of years, so you can imagine..." Kurt gives a wry smile here and Blaine joins in – he remembers what the two of them were like with daily contact, with endless conversations and one-upmanship – after a gap of that length it must have been exhausting.

"We were talking about Finn," Kurt continues, "and whether she was going to catch up with him while she was home. She said..." Kurt lets out a sigh and closes his eyes for a brief moment. "She said there was no point, that they'd both moved on, and that clinging to some misguided attempt at friendship would only hold them back."

"So you did it for my own good?" Blaine asks bitterly. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

Kurt shrugs with his good shoulder. "Partly. But mainly I did it for me." He reaches out then, takes hold of Blaine's hand, and finally meets his gaze. "I've never been happy here, not really. I mean, there's been times when it's been amazing – the award shows, the premieres—"

"The screaming girls?" Blaine can't help but tease despite the seriousness of the conversation.

Kurt grins sheepishly. "Yeah, that took a bit of getting used to."

"I bet." Blaine smiles softly. "But I don't understand what that has to do with us."

"Because it was always about us, Blaine," Kurt admits quietly, and Blaine can't tell if the lurching in his chest is happiness or fear. "I know I've done really well out of my decision to come here, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a tiny part of me that's regretted it ever since. And after talking to Rachel, I figured that maybe trying to hang on to _something_ of what we had was the reason I never settled, never moved on."

"And did it work?"

"No." Kurt squeezes his eyes shut tight and swallows hard. "No, it didn't. It made it worse, in fact, because it was just another thing to feel guilty about."

"We're so stupid," Blaine says sadly, and tries his hardest not to think about all the wasted years.

"You sound like Dad." Kurt gives a sad smile of his own. "He told me I was an idiot, that I should just go after what made me happy."

Blaine takes hold of Kurt's hand in both of his. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I was too stubborn, too proud to admit that I was wrong." Kurt's eyes are glazed with the threat of tears now, and Blaine's not far behind. "So I let the best thing that ever happened to me just drift away."

Blaine really is forced to blink back the tears now – the way things are going, by the time Finn gets back from the cafeteria they're going to be a blubbering mess. 

"So where do we go from here?" Blaine rubs his thumb lightly across Kurt's knuckles and is amazed at how much such simple contact means to him.

"Honestly, I don't know," Kurt admits. "I mean, has anything really changed?"

"Of course it has." Blaine stands up quickly and perches on the side of Kurt's bed; he doesn't want to give him chance to look away this time. "Everything's changed.”

"How?" Kurt's expression has just a hint of stubbornness to it. "We still live on opposite sides of the country, Blaine. If anything, we're just making it worse by prodding old wounds."

"About that," Blaine takes a deep breath; he hasn’t fully thought through the logistics of what he's about to suggest, but then he hadn't expected to be saying it this soon. But he can see from Kurt's eyes that he's in danger of losing again what he already thought was lost, so he's not prepared to wait.

However, he's going to have to wait a little bit longer, because at that point there's a gentle tap on the door and Kurt's doctor enters. "Sorry to interrupt," the doctor says, with an apologetic smile at them both. "I just want to check on those stitches of yours, make sure they're healing properly."

Kurt looks a little bit relieved at the interruption and Blaine tries his hardest not to feel hurt by that. He slides off the bed and gives the doctor his politest smile, despite the irritation he feels. "I'll go and see what's keeping Finn," Blaine says, edging slowly towards the door. "He should have been back with those coffees ages ago."

♦ ♦ ♦

They don't get to finish the conversation that day. By the time Blaine tracks down Finn, who's happily chatting up a member of the nursing staff, and gets back to Kurt's room, Burt and Carole are already in residence, and though Blaine suspects he may have Kurt's family's approval in the bag, it's not exactly something he wants to discuss in front of an audience.

So he waits another day. After two years, it's really not that much of a hardship.

Blaine gets his opportunity the next morning when Burt and Carole announce they won't be visiting until the afternoon. Blaine rather suspects Finn's involvement in this, and judging from the obvious way Finn avoids his gaze throughout breakfast, it appears Blaine's guess was correct.

He takes a little more care getting ready this morning. Not so much that it's immediately noticeable, but just enough so that Kurt's gaze will linger appreciatively on his – or at least that's what Blaine hopes anyway.

Though apparently he's not been as subtle as he hoped, because Carole grins broadly at him as he leaves, and if part of Blaine thinks he hears the words _get some_ leave Finn's mouth, the other part of him is resolutely ignoring it.

Blaine breezes through the hospital now – he's become well-known to the staff over the last six days, and several of the nurses seem to be rooting for him and Kurt as strongly, if not more so, than Blaine himself. So Blaine nods and smiles at the few staff he passes, and continues on his way towards Kurt's room – a noticeable spring in his step. Blaine's spent the last twenty-four hours psyching himself up to do this, and now he's _ready_.

Only, the fates seem to be conspiring against Blaine because, as he comes to a halt outside Kurt's room, hand raised to give a cursory knock before entering, he hears raised voices from within. And when he takes a closer look through the open blind, he sees it's Kurt's PA, Stacey, who's currently on the receiving end of his ire.

Kurt looks up as Blaine hesitates and waves him in. Kurt, at least, looks pleased to see him – Stacey, on the other hand, appears to be sucking a lemon.

"We need to sort this out; you're being discharged soon."

Kurt ignores his assistant – choosing instead to smile warmly at Blaine as he takes the seat beside the bed. "Hi."

Blaine smiles in return, but holds off on taking Kurt's hand as planned because he can feel angry eyes boring into them. "Hey."

"Kurt!"

Kurt breaks eye contact with obvious reluctance and turns to face his assistant. "I've already told you I don't want to discuss it."

"I know." Stacey's glare fades into something more sympathetic. "And I understand your objections. But this won't just go away."

Blaine's intrigued now, and not a little concerned. He has no idea what they're discussing, but whatever it is doesn't sound good. He doesn't ask, though – Kurt will tell him in his own time, and he's already been on the receiving end of enough of Stacey's death stares these last few days without inviting more.

"Leave the information over there." Kurt gestures vaguely in the direction of his bedside cabinet. "I'll look at it later. But no promises," he adds with mock-severity.

A smile of relief breaks out over Stacey's face and Blaine is forced to reassess his former opinion – she's really quite pretty. Her opinion of him, however, appears to remain unchanged as she bestows him with a particularly baleful glare on her way out.

"Not my biggest fan," Blaine comments ruefully.

"She's very territorial," Kurt offers by way of explanation. "She's used to having me all to herself."

"Well, she's just going to have to get used to sharing," Blaine says determinedly, and hopes this will be the perfect opportunity to broach the topic he wants to discuss.

"Planning on sticking around for a while, are you?" Kurt speaks with lightness to his tone, but Blaine knows him well enough to spot false bravado.

"Yes, I am," he says simply, before reaching out for Kurt's hand.

Kurt looks stunned briefly, and even if this was the answer he was hoping for, it's clear he still didn't expect it. "You must have an understanding boss," he says finally. There's a shaky laugh as he finishes that tells Blaine just how unnerved he is.

"I freelance nowadays," Blaine replies, his eyes glued to Kurt's face, waiting from some reaction other than nerves to tell him how this is going. "There's nothing I could do in New York that I couldn't do here. Except for Wes's wedding, and that's not for another eight weeks."

"He's getting married?" Kurt's eyes widen in surprise.

"I know, right?" Blaine chuckles. "David and I were convinced he'd never find anyone daft enough to take him on, but Kira's perfect. If possible, she's actually even more _organised_ than he is."

Kurt laughed at his - -the sound music to Blaine's ears. "Their poor children," he adds with a mock shudder.

"Come with me?" Blaine blurts out suddenly – this isn't part of his original plan, but it just seems right.

Kurt's brown creases slightly in confusion. "Where to?"

"Wes's wedding. He'd love to see you again. So would the others – David, Jeff, Thad—"

Kurt scoffed slightly here and Blaine smiled ruefully. "Okay, so maybe Thad wasn't your biggest fan."

"He was too busy being yours."

Blaine groans. "You know what, forget I mentioned it. You sound just like Wes and David now, and the last thing I need is you teaming up with them."

"When you put it like that." Kurt smiles broadly and it causes Blaine's heart to clench. "I'd love to go with you."

It all feels so easy, so like old times, that Blaine is loathe to spoil it. He needs to talk to Kurt, and he has every intention of doing so, but he doesn't want to run the risk of rocking the boat so early. Things between the two of them seem to be going pretty smoothly, and Kurt's reacting okay to the idea of him sticking around for a while – so Blaine figures there's no rush.

They talk for ages, about past times, old friends, memories good and bad, but it occurs to Blaine after a while, that neither one of them has mentioned their college years. They've stuck rigidly to high school or the years beyond, and it's like those four years, the ones that tore them apart, never happened. Blaine knows eventually it's a subject they'll have to address – it's the root of too many troubles to be ignored – but for now he's happy with the good times.

One of the nurses bustles in after a while and conversation stills while she goes about her business.

It's an awkward moment for Blaine. He offers to leave while Kurt's dressings are changed, but Kurt's having none of it. In fact, he retains his hold on Blaine's hand throughout. And Blaine, well there's a part of him that can't bear to look at the marks marring Kurt's torso – the fading bruises, darker here than on his face, and the wound, secured by neat stitches – but there's another part of him that's only human. And this is Kurt, after all. And he's sat inches from Blaine with his shirt off, and despite the obvious injuries, beneath that is a body that Blaine hasn't laid eyes on in six years.

"These are healing nicely," the nurse comments as she inspects Kurt's abdomen. 

"Not fast enough," Kurt mutters – his previously good mood vanishes at any mention of his injuries.

"Can't wait to leave us, is that it?" The nurse smiles quickly at Blaine. "Though I suppose you do have quite an incentive." She winks at Kurt then who flushes in a way that Blaine just finds adorable.

"Just change that dressing and leave." Kurt tries for an imperious manner, but it's clear to everyone from the small smile on his face that he's just joking.

"Such a demanding patient. I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for." The nurse is clearly talking to him now and Blaine just nods, because of course he knows. This is Kurt – demanding is pretty much his middle name, and it's also one of the many things Blaine loves about him.

"Only another couple of days," the nurse comments, as she wipes gently over Kurt's stitches. "And then you'll be out from under my feet. Good riddance, I say." But the smile on her face says anything but that. "You take good care of him, you hear?"

The gaze fixed on Blaine is marginally more serious and he finds himself nodding automatically. "Yes, ma’am."

Clearly it was the right thing to say, because he's rewarded with a beaming smile. The nurse fixes the fresh dressing in place and then gives Kurt a pat on his hip. "You'll be fine," she says as she buttons his top again. "You'll have this one wrapped around your finger in no time."

Blaine chuckles at this, but refrains from pointing out that he already is.

"You don't have to, you know," Kurt says quietly as the nurse exits the room. "I mean, I don't expect it."

Blaine turns back to face him, his face a mask of confusion. "Don't have to what?" he asks.

"Look after me." 

Kurt's doing that thing where he's refusing to meet Blaine's gaze, and it's driving him crazy. Blaine sighs softly and gets to his feet. He sits on the edge of Kurt's bed, one leg tucked underneath him, the other dangling off the side. 

"I know I don't _have_ to," Blaine says, as he takes hold of Kurt's hand. "But I _want_ to. And anyway, it makes perfect sense – who else is going to do it?"

Kurt nods in the direction of brochures his assistant left earlier. "Stacey wants me to hire someone."

"But you don't want to." It's not a question. Blaine heard enough of the argument earlier to know this is the case.

"No," Kurt replies slowly. "But—"

"Finn has to head back at the end of this week," Blaine continues. "Which leaves your dad or Carole."

Kurt's expression clearly shows what he thinks of that option. "Because that wouldn't be humiliating at all."

"Which leaves me." Blaine's sure his expression must be a tiny bit smug. "It's the perfect solution."

"But you have a life back in New York. I can't expect you to put it on hold while you play nursemaid to me."

"I'm _offering_ ," Blaine says firmly. Then he shuffles a bit closer and takes hold of Kurt's hand. "I'm not doing this out of obligation or guilt, or any other of those reasons that you're thinking. I want to spend more time with you, get to know you again, and if I can help take care of you in the process, well that's just a bonus."

It seemed to Blaine like the longest time before Kurt looked up to meet his gaze. And even then there was still fear warring with happiness in his expression.

"I just don't think it's such a good idea," he says quietly.

Blaine tries his hardest not to feel hurt, but the rejection still stings. "I don't understand."

"Getting over you was the hardest thing I've ever done." Kurt laughs bitterly here. "Who am I kidding; I don't think I ever really managed it."

"Kurt—"

Kurt shakes his head firmly. "Just let me finish."

Blaine nods, but it's hard to see Kurt so raw, so brittle, and not be able to soothe it away.

"It's not that I don't want you to stay, to help me, because I do. But sooner or later you'll go back to New York, to your real life, and I don't think I can go through that again."

And because this is one of those rare times that Blaine is at a loss for words, he decides to _show_ rather than _tell_. Blaine leans forward slowly, mindful of Kurt's numerous injuries, and, releasing Kurt's hand, he reaches out with his own and gently brushes Kurt's fringe back from his face. And then a moment he's longed for, has dreamt of for the last six years, because he's kissing Kurt, and Kurt's kissing him back, and it's like every Christmas and birthday rolled into one, and Blaine's fairly sure he's going to explode soon because it's just not possible for someone to be _this_ happy.

The noises Kurt makes, the sighs, the soft little whimpery sounds that Blaine never thought he'd get to hear again, it's all too perfect. And Blaine pulls back finally, because as wonderful as this is, he _needs_ to see Kurt's face.

Kurt looks dazed, stunned even, and there's a tiny part of Blaine that's doing a victory dance, because _he_ did that, he rocked Kurt Hummel's world, even if just for a brief moment.

"W-what...I don't understand." And judging from his expression, Kurt really doesn't.

Blaine presses a small, gentle kiss to Kurt's forehead, before resting his own against it. "I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. 

"But New York," Kurt protests feebly.

"Shhh." Blaine pecks a quick kiss to the tip of Kurt's nose. "I'm yours for as long as you want me."


End file.
